"Alexandre!" she said.
"What is it, my dear?"
He did not yet understand. But on seeing her tears, he ended by feeling
disturbed, in spite of all his fine assurance. He looked at the others,
and wishing to have the last word, he added: "Ah, yes! our poor child.
But particular cases have nothing to do with general theories; ideas are
still ideas."
Silence fell between them. They were now near the lawn where the family
had remained. And for the last moment Mathieu had been thinking of
Morange, whom he had also invited to the wedding, but who had excused
himself from attending, as if he were terrified at the idea of gazing on
the joy of others, and dreaded, too, lest some sacrilegious attempt
should be made in his absence on the mysterious sanctuary where he
worshipped. Would he, Morange--so Mathieu wondered--have clung like
Beauchene to his former ideas? Would he still have defended the theory of
the only child; that hateful, calculating theory which had cost him both
his wife and his daughter? Mathieu could picture him flitting past, pale
and distracted, with the step of a maniac hastening to some mysterious
end, in which insanity would doubtless have its place.
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